


Not Alone

by sofithethird



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post 147, Suicidal Thoughts, These Bastards Finally Talk to Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofithethird/pseuds/sofithethird
Summary: Martin grapples with his Loneliness; Jon comes to find him





	Not Alone

Martin stands at the edge of the roof, toes carefully lined up just centimeters from the halfhearted cement barrier. Below, the streets of London at night. A few pedestrians walking quickly, cars speeding at odd intervals to the tune of stoplights changing. In the distance, building windows are lit with flecks of yellowed light, and up-close he can see people moving around in their houses across the street, watching the television, doing the dishes, just living. 

Above, he can feel the Vast expanse of an empty sky full of forgotten stars dying in the night. Despite the people he can see, the gentle hum and bustle of the city, he feels so very Lonely. Perhaps it is the Loneliness that compelled him to come home to his flat for the first time in at least a few weeks. To step into a space that had once felt like a welcoming respite from the plagues of the life he was living and find it covered in dust and draped in cobwebs. Martin had realized, with an unfortunate lack of surprise, that the flat no longer contained the familiar smells of his day to day life, the candles he had burned and food he had cooked and the soap he liked to use. It smelled forgotten. Lonely. 

He didn’t know quite why he had stepped out of the flat and taken the cold metal and concrete steps up as many flights as they would go until he had come all the way to the roof. He hadn’t even known his building had a roof to go up to until tonight. And so he peered over the edge and felt the cool night air sweeping over his face, his outstretched hands. He wondered now if he were just to fall, if his life would have had any meaning at all. Peter wasn’t here to stop him. No one from the Archive cared anymore, not Melanie, not Basira, and not Daisy, not after he’d lashed out. Not Jon. Never Jon. 

Martin pictured falling, and image that was quickly replaced by the thought of being caught in the threads of an enormous web stretched between the buildings below. Then that was gone and he was just thinking about falling again, plunging into the night. It’s not like he was at all important to anything going on, not as if he had ever had any semblance of control, he thought. Almost instinctively, he felt himself move slightly closer to the edge, leaning further forward. The sinking in his stomach felt like the ground was giving way beneath him, which didn’t sound so bad.... leaning, more now, with his eyes closed, and god, he’d never felt so Alone.

And then, the creak of the door at the top of the stairs to the roof.  
“Martin?” Came Jon’s voice, a startled mix of concern with a twinge of panic.   
Martin kept his eyes shut.   
“Why are you here— why you? Now?”  
He could hear careful, slow footsteps edging toward him.   
“I, um, well... I Knew you would be here.” Jon said, a little sheepishly by the sound of it.   
“Course you did” Martin muttered. 

He opened his eyes and saw that Jon was standing a meter away, looking unsteady and concerned. He was surprised that he could not hear the familiar whir of a tape recorder.   
“Martin... come away from the edge. Please,”   
“I’m not going to fall. Or jump.”   
“I Know. But you’re worrying me. Just... come away.”

Martin turned slightly to face Jon head-on. The Archivist’s sweater was half untucked and rumpled and he was in desperate need of a haircut. Still, in the starlight, Martin was almost angry with himself for still thinking about his nicely angled jaw and keen eyes, thinking about how... No more.

“Please, Martin,” Jon said again. “I can’t... I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”  
“Things have happened to me. Things happen to all of us every day! But now you care?”  
“You’re— you’re right. I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry, for everything. I’ve destroyed everything. I Know I’m a monster. I Know you have no reason to trust me and no reason to listen to me and no reason to do anything I say. But please, I can’t do this knowing you’re not here.”  
Desperation and fear were steadily creeping into Jon’s voice. 

Martin looked down.   
“It’s all been for you,” he said. “It’s all been for bloody you, all this time...”  
“I Know. I Know and I’m sorry. I’ve never been worth it, the things I’ve done, these unforgivable things...”   
Martin turned and took a step away from the ledge. Towards Jon, he stared at the man in front of him. Here, he didn’t seem like a monster. He just looked like a tired man in worn clothing, going gray at the temples. He looked full of remorse and desperation and self-hatred and behind it all, just a bit of hope. 

Martin sank to his knees on the cold rooftop.  
“Why are why here?” He said quietly.   
Jon knelt carefully beside him, putting his arms around his shoulders as if trying to move him further from the edge.   
“I don’t know. I don’t know why we’re here or what we’re doing or when it’s all finally going to come crashing down. I just know— I just know that right now, I needed to be with you.”  
Martin stated carefully into Jon’s face looking for a sign of insincerity but finding none.   
“I love you,” Martin said, surprised at himself, but he continued, “Always did. I can’t stop it. Everything I’ve done, it’s always been you...” he trails off.  
“Martin... I love you too. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long but I do. I do, I do and I’m sorry. You deserve so much more than me.”

Jon may actually have begun to cry. It had been so long since he had felt so vulnerable, so human. They were both huddled over on the roof and then they were both crying, leaning into each other and weeping the cathartic tears they had both been holding for so long. Jon did not falter when Martin reached his hands around him. Jon only pulled him closer. They sat, cheek to cheek, and then they were turning their heads. Lips brushing gently once, and then they had both returned to complete the kiss, fueled by pain and rage and sadness and joy and all the cursed, damned love.

Martin rested his head on Jon’s shoulder and let Jon hold him, just hold him there where he felt, for the first time in so long, warm. Safe. Loved.

“Let’s go on inside,” Jon said quietly.   
Martin nodded into his shoulder.   
“Let me make you some tea” Jon said, and Martin managed a small laugh. He let Jon help him to his feet, and together, they headed back for the stairs.


End file.
